


tell me atlas, which is heavier? The world or it’s peoples hearts?

by dontstraytoofar



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, PTSD, angsty, but - Freeform, they heal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontstraytoofar/pseuds/dontstraytoofar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie can't say she remembers her.</p><p>Angie can't say she remembers a lot of things.</p><p>~</p><p>Cartinelli Week: Spy!Angie OR Wintersoldier!Angie</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My (very) late cartinelli week input. I'm posting today as I don't think I'll have time to post tomorrow on Saturday (the actual day for spy angie au) so here we go. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy x

~

 

They told her it was fine, they told her the sun don’t shine on the other side and it _definately_ don’t shine where Angie is being sent to. They tell her she’s calculated, she’s quick, they need her for this job. She’s level headed, detached. They tell her she’s a prize of theirs.  

_They._ She’s still figuring that one out.

But Angie still agrees to being sent away. A suitcase, a black and white photo, clothes, the essentials. Angie thinks she liked dancing before. She liked acting, she liked sweet things. She can remember liking the theatre and mundane activities. She can remember a woman who smiled a lot, who had boundless energy and _served_ people with a grin.

She still does, serve people that is.

Angie though, she hasn’t truly smiled in a long time.

She’s boarding a train, she doesn’t know where to. She’s wearing a pink sweater and skirt, they picked it out for her because trains have civilians and some trains have woman like Peggy Carter who look for out of place things. She frowns because whenever that name, the only name she was given, pops into her mind, Angie is forced to sit quietly and stare into space. Trying to figure out how a name can hold so much power and how the nerves in her arm instinctively reach for her firearm strapped to her thigh.

She’s frowning so hard at the bricks laying the ground that an elderly woman queerly looks to her and softly inquires with a warm smile.  “Are you alright dear?”

Angie shakes her head and looks up, positively _beaming_ and nodding till her curls bounce and the woman leans back from the enthusiasm.“Oh, perfectly fine mam!”

The woman seems content with the answer, smiles, and walks on.

The train pulls up, screeching metal and hands waving to loved ones through small windows. Angie hears this distant voice that always sits there. She sleeps to this voice sometimes, she doesn’t know where it came from. It’s rich and smooth and feminine and makes Angie wonder if the voice belongs to the photo in her bag. To the woman who is holding her waist and laughing as Angie is pictured with her head tucked into the woman’s neck and grinning so hard Angie’s cheeks look like they hurt. They’re dancing. Holding eachother. Angie’s arms around her neck. They’re... _happy_. They seem alive.

The picture confuses Angie, and as she boards holding it between her fingertips, she wonders if it will be hard to put a bullet between the other woman’s eyes and watch that laughing smile fade. She deducts the voice does belong to the woman. And she deducts her own smile is certainly reaching her eyes in the photo that although black and white, screams colour.

She glances up to the man waiting for her ticket. He rips it, she walks the corridors.

They tell her she’s best for this job, she asks why. They answer _“You knew her, understand her tactics, you were **trained** for this”_  Angie doesn’t remember _her,_ she only remembers flashing lights and the words; _“Wipe her, start again”_

Angie asks insistently. Why her? Why her, why her, why her? They say she’s calculated. She’s dangerous. She’s quick. Deadly. Detatched.

The voice catches her mind again as she sits and gazes out the window to the passing hills.

_“Angie that was amazing.”_  It makes her eyebrows draw together.

Angie’s never been amazing before.

**~  
  
**

 

_“Find me when you wake up”_

That’s how it always starts. Angie avoids sleeping based on this one little dream that creeps through the crevices whenever Angie starts to remember. When Angie starts to remember a woman in red who stroked her naked spine and who she hugged between sheets and who kissed her on the cheek when Angie cooked.

She liked cooking? That’s a new memory.

And in her apartment that they rented for her stay, Angie paces the floor and with her hands in her hair she tugs, because _new memories_ is bad. Very, very, _very_ bad. It means they find her and erase. Erase. Erase. _Erase._ Always stealing Angie, stealing everything about her.

Stealing this Peggy from her.  

She doesn’t even want her! Angie doesn’t know her! Angela Martinelli. Doesn’t. Know. Peggy. Carter.

Peggy Carter’s a dream, she’s a woman who whispers, she’s her target. She’s Angie’s mission. She’s pacing faster now, fists tight in her hair as confused tears threaten to fall because lately Angie’s not even sure who _Angie_ is. Is she this woman who brightly cooks? Who sings? Who acts and smiles and grins and laughs and loves?

Or is she _this_ woman, the one wearing the floor down as she paces wall to wall. An empty puppet to serpents who eat her up and say nice things, then spit her out with the venom trailing after. A woman who has smeared blood on her hands and who can’t remember a _thing?_ Angie’s breaths are laboured now and she pulls her hand down to see her wrist, a small tattoo, a number, and a burn mark. She remembers the tattoo. Peggy dared her, she remembers laughing as she picked a violet to etch into her skin.

The number. They picked it out for her. _001_. Do puppets get numbered?

The burn mark, she remembers Peggy rubbing ointment as Angie frowned at dinner going wrong.

There’s too many memories now, she should stop. They’ll know. She doesn’t know _how,_ but they will. She walks straight to the bathroom, glancing into the mirror and leaning over the sink bracing her hands on the edge. Closing her eyes and clenching her jaw, picturing Peggy cold and lifeless, picturing her body on the floor with blood pooling her pretty face. Picturing herself looming over with the smoke of a gun still travelling into the sky, or a knife still dripping Peggy Carter’s pure blood onto the warm streets.

_“Find me when you wake up darling”_

For _god’s sake_ she isn’t asleep!

“I’m not asleep! Leave me alone!” Angie screams it into the empty walls, closing her eyes and hitting the palms of her hands onto the sink surface. She tugs at her hair again then rips her hands back to clench the edge now, looking into the mirror at her deep set hardened eyes.

And with a frustrated scream, Angie lets her fist connect with her reflection.

**~  
  
**

 

She wakes up. Figuratively.

And she finds Peggy. Literally.

1951\. Paris. France.

She finds her with a scarf around her head and large glasses, she's moving through the dense crowds, a gun in her hand stuck to her side. Angie, as she pushes sideways into the crowd, wonders why Peggy’s so open. Playing it risky.

She sees her body dart into a nearby alley way. Angie didn’t come prepared, she saw Peggy out of luck, decided to look up from her tea and croissant just as a woman with hair and nails just like Angie remembered them walked past.

_Remembered._

So she’s coming up empty and her mission holds a gun. Angie, when they erased her, never entertained the thought of a bare handed assassination when it came to Peggy Carter. It has always been quick, clean, over in no time.

Angie’s on Peggy’s heels, it’s a dead end alleyway, she faces her. Ripping the glasses to the ground and unravelling the scarf. Angie watches how the gun raises, Peggy’s wrists set straight and fingers wavering over the trigger. Her face is the same as Angie can remember, those red lips Angie thinks she kissed over and over. She has a vague memory of whispering against them.

Then Peggy speaks, and it’s the _voice._ Angie was right. It’s accented and deep.

But it’s hurt, oh god is it hurt. Angie tilts her head confusedly at the sound, at how the woman’s voice is cracked and how _sad_ her eyes are. How her hands are now trembling over the trigger as Angie moves closer, each step the woman’s eyes widen.

  
“Angie _please._  Stop walking”

Angie? Is that who she is? Is she this _‘Angie’?_

She doesn’t stop. She keeps walking and watches how Peggy’s hand tightens around the grip and her hand shakes. She gasps suddenly, making Angie stop with a wary start. Her eyes are sudden fury, Peggy’s bottom jaw trembling as she looks Angie up and down. “ _God,_ why did they dress you like that?”

_Like what?_

Angie frowns and looks down at herself. It’s just the pink cut off sweater and skirt, her makeup light. Her heels short.

Angie shakes her head. She’s remembering. That’s very, very, _very_ bad. But Peggy looks as if her outfit is personally offending her. Why hasn’t Angie moved in yet? What’s stopping her? Why is she still letting Peggy breathe?

_“Christ_ of course,” Angie tilts her head the other way at Peggy, watches how her hand lowers and she laughs bitterly. “Of _fucking_ course they’d dress you like this. It’s a bloody distraction. To remind me you’re still my Angie”

She’s someones Angie? She’s _someone’s?_

No. She’s done being property. Least to Peggy Carter.

She’s no ones.

Angie is a somebody.

A somebody sent and trained to kill the woman in front of her. So why hasn’t she moved? Her fingers are instinctively inching, but her voice is so familiar, so warm and velvety that Angie waits a few moments to listen. She let’s it lull over her mind and sooth her raging head.

Peggy speaks up, arm raised again and jaw set, Angie can see her eyes sparkled with tears, they’re foreign to her. Angie hasn’t cried for years. The woman’s voice is desperate and aching, like she’s lost too much already. “Angie, walk away. Please, for the love of god. _Walk. Away”_

She frowns and swallows. Eyebrows furrowing and her nose scrunching because she can smell fresh baked cookies and someone’s shampooed hair, she can remember Peggy’s hands around her waist. But before she can delve further into her memories, Peggy’s voice catches her ears again, sad, and oh so heartbreaking as it cracks.

“Oh no. Angie no. _Don’t_ do that” She tilts her head again in questioning. Peggy swallows and her finger clicks the hammer back. Angie scrunches her nose again, confused as to why she’s still letting Peggy talk and breathe. The action of Angie’s confusion makes a tear finally fall from Peggy’s face.

_“Christ.”_ Peggy seems to break then, her hand positively shaking, her aim totally off centre as she resigns from the point at Angie’s forehead and drops her arm defeatedly to her side. Her body slumping onto the brick wall as she lets her head loll back and stare into the sky.

Breathing heavy with fat tears rolling steadily down her cheeks.

Angie watches how her throat bobs, and her hands itch.

“I thought I could do it. Angie, I thought I could go through with it” She watches how Peggy frowns to the sky and drops her gun, her legs nearly giving out. She glances down, straight into Angie’s eyes. They’re so soft, so loving and it’s making Angie want to scream because she _knows_ that smile. She remembers _loving_ that smile and kissing it and giggling into that mouth. So why is she here? Hands on auto pilot wanting to wrap around Peggy’s neck?

_What. Happened. To. Her_.

So that’s why she says it, that’s why Angie says the words because her mind can’t take it anymore. She can’t keep wondering who she is, and frankly whenever she hears the voice or hears her name or see’s Peggy Carter she feels one step closer to figuring it out.

“Peggy?”

And it’s quite sad, a _tragedy_ actually, how Peggy nearly sobs at the name and voice. Her eyes brightening and widening as Angie frowns and looks to her hands. Studying the lines and scars that run along it.

“Angie?”

Peggy’s voice is so _hopeful,_ yet so wary as Angie looks up from her palms and into Peggy’s eyes. Her blue taking in the brown, Angie’s voice so innocent yet so confused. So tired yet so strong and demanding. “What happened to me?”

Peggy swallows, taking a step forward to the ticking time bomb that is the other woman. “I-I’m not sure. Angie darling-” Angie reacts, head snapping up and eyes hardening as Peggy falters. “ _Who’s_ Angie, I don’t know who Angie is! Peggy, I don’t know _who_ Angie is!”

Peggy flinches, and Angie doesn’t know why that stings. But the English woman keeps walking forward, hands outstretched. Eyes warm and inviting. “You _. You’re_ Angela Martinelli. You’re my.. _.friend._ Angie, you’ve know me your entire life. I lost you three years ago to them, they kidnapped you. Angie they’ve done things to you, they’ve _hurt_ you. Don’t let them keep doing it, you _know_ me. Darling I-”

It’s too much. Too many memories, too many bad thoughts and they’re gonna come for Angie. She’s remembering _too. Much._ Peggy’s smile, her touch, her breaths, her moans. They danced, they drank, they talked, they kissed, they fell in love. It’s flicking so fast past Angie’s vision that her eyes cloud over and dart around, trying to take it in.

But it’s hard, it’s so _hard_ because she’s feeling too much after feeling nothing at all.

Her hands go to her head again and fist her locks, tears spilling over her cheeks as she laughs then sobs then laughs again at _everything_ passing her eyes. Peggy coming home late, bruised and battered. Peggy nearly getting killed in action. They make love between white sheets and stars. They cook and taste each other’s lips with Peggy whispering about how _“God I wish the days were longer”_ because Peggy worked some ways away and Angie remembers how they missed each other fiercely when they were apart. She used to serve her hot tea and pie. She looks up to Peggy, and it’s _Angie’s_ eyes that shine. The Italian girl from Brooklyn who fell in love too easily and laughed like bells.

“English?”

Peggy almost cries and relief makes her want to buckle.

Angie is so overwhelmed that the emotions take control, she’s not here anymore. Maybe this is what _they_ programmed all along? Anticipating this moment of weakness as Angie’s eyes suddenly come back and her smile slows down and the tears stop. But Peggy’s still smiling hopeful, at how _happy_ Angie looked that she doesn't anticipate Angie’s jaw locking and eyes turning to ice. _“Wipe her. Start again.”_ It echoes in her mind.

Peggy doesn’t see how Angie’s eyes look to the ground again in confusion, and how her veins turn hot at how _close_ Peggy Carter is. She looks up and Peggy’s smile fades.

_She’s my mission._  

“Angie?”

“I don’t know you”

It’s said without emotion, it’s...cold. It’s so cold it makes Peggy shiver.

“Ang it’s me. Angie it’s Peggy.”

Peggy is still stuck on how the word ‘English’ sounded on Angie’s lips after so many years, that she doesn’t see the smaller woman’s hands around her neck until she’s gasping for air.

Her back hitting the brick wall with a sickening thud as Angie’s eyes harden, nothing recognisable in her face. No sweet smile, no shining blue eyes.  

Angie’s hands are _so strong._ They’re like a vice grip and her thumbs bend into Peggy’s trachea, Peggy’s already short on breath in mere _seconds._ Her hands instinctively raise to Angie’s holding her wrists but making no attempt to move them, just grasping onto them and relieving the tiniest pressure as both women struggle against each other’s strength.

Why isn’t Peggy moving? Why is she just holding Angie’s wrists? Why is Peggy…?... _Peggy…_

And as Angie’s thumbs dig ever deeper, Peggy’s face ashen, Angie shuts her eyes. Tears falling as she bows her head because it’s coming back like a kaleidoscope of memories and they’re so bright they blind Angie as she pushes on and screams in frustration. With her hands still around Peggy’s neck she pulls her back and shoves her into the wall. Again, and again and _again_ as Angie sobs and screams and puts her forehead to her wrists as she does it. Hearing Peggy gasp above her as each smack loosens her airways and crushes her throat.

Angie’s gone now, she’s back in that leather chair and men are talking and she feels electricity up her spine as she keeps pelting Peggy into the bricks.

“No! _No!_ Go away! I won’t hurt her! You can’t make me! I love her! _No! Please!”_

She hears Peggy gasp for air, Angie’s head still bowed and tears hot against her cheeks as she cries out into an empty alleyway.

“A-Angie! Ang, st-”

She screams again, smashing Peggy’s body into the wall.

_“Wipe. Her. Start. Again.”_

__

_“You can’t keep doing this! I won’t forget her!” Her hands struggle against the straps. Men stare._

__

_“Few more cranks”_

__

_Angie flings her body about and watches the dial rise, clenching her teeth._

__

_“Her name is Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. I met her in the year of ‘46, in the L &L automat, she has brunette hair and brown eyes and red lips and..a-and I love her! Whatever you’re trying to do ain’t gonna work. I could **never** forget Peggy!”_

__

_The men stare, and behind the glass, one whispers as he checks his watch._

__

_“And in three. Two. **One”**_

__

“ANGIE!”

She’s back with a gasp, her fingers slack against Peggy’s throat and it seems that was the last ounce Peggy could take. Angie can feel the tears stain her cheeks as she looks to Peggy’s slumped body, scrunching her eyebrows and confusedly looking to her pale cheeks and pink lips, to Peggy’s body greedily taking in air and her chest erratic.

Angie breathes the words with perplexed eyes. “But you’re my _mission”_

Peggy swallows, raising her hands to Angie’s still around her throat and grasping them softly. It startles Angie, her eyes widening at her hands being held in such a caring way. She watches Peggy shake her head, still breathing heavily as she holds Angie’s hands in her own.

“N-No my darling. You’re my _f-friend,_ ” Peggy lets tears fall as she gazes to Angie, chuckles with a wheeze and lets her body give in. “A-Angie good god. You’re my everything”

She’s someones everything? She’s an _everything?_

Angie’s been a lot of things, never everything all at once.

She feels Peggy swallow under her hands.

“But if I am. Y-Your mission that is,” Peggy’s head slumps back, her whole body resting into the wall as she takes Angie’s hands that are still around her neck, _pushing._ Her head craning up and eyes closing.

“Then finish it; because my d-darling, _the days aren’t getting any longer”_

Angie steps back, it _crashes_ onto her. It bruises, it falls, it carries onto her shoulder like Atlas and she’s _Angie_ again. She’s so close to that girl she can taste it as she feels Peggy’s laboured breaths on her lips.

And maybe she won’t be fully herself, maybe her smiles sometimes won’t reach her eyes.

But she’s Angie, and she finally remembers what it feels like to have a name.

She then feels her hands dangling between them now as she shakes her head, a lone tear falls and for Peggy it takes everything in her not to catch it on her thumb. She walks backwards, still shaking her head. “Peggy...I don’t...I..”

Her eyes are so... _forgiving._ So compassionate that Angie swallows thickly because she deserves a lotta things but compassion ain’t one. “It’s alright”

But Angie’s shaking her head, already walking backwards. No, no it’s _not_ alright. She can see a defined bruise line Peggy’s neck, _Angie’s_ fingerprints and hand printed onto Peggy’s skin. And Angie remembers how soft she kissed that neck and how she would never, _ever,_ in a million years even _contemplate_ laying a hand on her English.

But she’s Angie now, the emotions are part of the package.

So here Peggy’s stands, still breathing heavy because Angie Martinelli, mere minutes ago, wanted to _kill_ her. God, to calm herself down at night she imagined Peggy in a pool of blood, lifeless. And she’s already feeling hot tears on her cheeks because Angie’s afraid of herself, christ she’s afraid of what else she could do if she suddenly remembers this other self.

And the last, oh the _very_ last thing Angie wants to do is hurt Peggy again.

She feels her back hit the other side of the alleyway.

She see’s Peggy reach an arm out calmly, speaking soft words. And Angie doesn’t blame her, but it still stings. How Peggy’s walking to her like she’s a caged wild animal, unsure. Wary.

_Untrustworthy._

And that’s what especially hurts. The fact that Peggy has a slight look of distrust after Angie can remember how Peggy would trust her blindly, without thought. She can remember her climbing through a window and just saying four little words and that’s all Angie needed.

She wants to be that girl again, the girl Peggy could climb through a second story building and already know Angie had her back. Had her arms in hers and lying through her teeth for her.

But now, because of _them,_ Peggy can’t even look at Angie in the eyes.

And as she watches Peggy walk closer, a little bit of the other girl comes out because she wants to find them and hurt them and make them feel what she felt. Make them feel the electricity running her spine and the confusion every minute of every day that plagued her mind.

She wants _them_ to feel what it feels like to lose the love of your life then have her back, to be the shell of who you once were.

Peggy reaches her, her voice is so soft.

“Angie, it’s alright. I’m here, you’re here.” She touches Angie’s shoulder so lightly, she flinches on instinct because she hasn’t felt someone willingly touch her in years. “We’re _fine._ We’re going to be fine.”

Fine?

_Is_ she fine?

Is she _ever_ going to be fine?

Angie doesn't know what compels her, but suddenly she’s in Peggy’s arms. In her chest, in her skin, in her warm inviting embrace. Actually, it’s more like Peggy’s suddenly in Angie, consumed. Her strong arms tightening around the underside of Peggy’s arms, fisting her shoulder blades and blouse.

Peggy’s own arms hang in the air for a split second, but just as fast, she’s clinging to Angie. Arms around the shorter woman’s neck and softly fisting the hair at the base of her neck.

Peggy catches Angie’s sobs in her shirt, in her neck, and Peggy can feel Angie’s body crack. First it starts with her chest, it brittles from the weight of her cries. Then Angie’s hands, they cling to Peggy so desperately she can feel them pierce the material of her shirt. Her legs are third, the weight of the world breaks her knees and suddenly they’re on the cement of an alleyway in Paris and Peggy is still feeling tears pool in her collarbone.

She holds tighter, and she muffles her own sobs in Angie’s silky hair.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god Peggy, I’m so sorry”

It keeps going like that, Peggy lightly running her fingers through Angie’s hair and quietly shushing her, soothingly holding her tighter as Angie keeps muttering and crying. “I didn’t know-Peggy I’m sorry-English don’t make me go back-I didn’t want to hurt you-Pegs,”

And they sit there, on the cold ground. The evening sun casting shadows down the alleyway and illuminating their feet. Only their feet because both woman are curled up in one another, both hiding into each other as the shadows creep up their legs and lick their skin.

Peggy murmurs into her hair, something about “My darling, it’s okay you’re here. That’s _everything”_ And Angie answers back with things like “No I’m not, I _can’t_ be Angie I hurt you!”

It ends with cheeks taken in hands and lips silencing the others excuses fiercely.

Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, maybe Angie could still easily flick back into that other woman and kill her with her lips. But as Angie cries into Peggy’s mouth, and desperately breathes her in with her hands cupping her cheek, Peggy’s willing to take the risk if this is what she gets to feel.

And last time Peggy checked, she’s been dying from Angie’s kiss for years.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a follow up to the last chap! A little angsty a little healing :) enjoy!

 

~

 

Angie wants to hate feeling safe in Peggy’s presence, but she narrows that down to her other self talking and lets her back muscles relax against the cushioned seat. The window to her left flicking the blur of trees past her vision as the train moves noisily against the tracks. Her hands are uncomfortably resting on her lap, like she has a metal rod up her spine, and she can’t stop how her eyes dart around the carriage.

She hasn’t yet gotten over the second nature that is watching Peggy’s neck vein pulse as she reaches into the overhead compartment, or how her hands itch, or how…

_No._ Angie shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly to rid the thoughts. This is her _Peggy._ This is her English. They lived together in a mansion from Howard Stark. Her name is Angela Martinelli and she’s loved Peggy Carter for years.

She _knows_ this. She knows Angie and she knows herself. She can remember everything. She can remember what it feels like to love Peggy, to hold her, Angie doesn’t need to actually remember it at all, not with the way she _feels_ it. Not with the way she connects with her real self and all she pictures is a warm red lipped smile and strong arms lifting her up in a spin, to come back down in a haze of kisses that start with Peggy’s name and ends with it.

And every time Peggy looks at her in worry and concern, Angie’s reminded of how she had her hands around her neck and she wants to punch another mirror and watch the glass rain down. She should be away from her, taken someplace else so she doesn’t hurt Peggy again. Strapped and tied down for the a millionth time because Angie would rather that any day than running the risk of flicking back to the one they left in Paris.

 

The _monster._ The feral thing Angie can feel itching through her fingertips and whispering in her ear.

It’s been three days.

They’re on a train out of the famous city.

And it makes Angie want to be locked up all the more because all Peggy does is hold her hand in her lap, and when Angie starts to panic, thinking this _monster_ is back, Peggy will whispers things like “My darling it’s alright. I’m here, you’re here. You’re my Angie” in her ear as the train moves. It slows her heart rate down, her veins cool and her teeth unclench.

And she’s Angie again, for the brief moment in time she likes to think Peggy can bask in the fact that she’s rubbing at Angie’s hand and _Angie_ is listening. And when Peggy checks the corridors once, twice, then plants a warm kiss to Angie’s forehead, she likes to think when she smiles and lets a breath of air out, it’s _her_. It’s Angie and her little habits coming out to show.

When the mountain sides keep flicking past, and under the blanket on her lap Peggy’s hand tightens and her thumb rubs at her palm, she takes comfort knowing the monster hasn’t come out to play.

And when Peggy’s head slowly lulls onto her shoulder in sleep, Angie smiles to herself and brings their hands to her lips, eyes closing as she presses her mouth to their knuckles.

Peggy mumbles in her sleep, against Angie’s neck her lips move. “You’re not a monster Ang…”

She almost believes it.

**  
**  


~

**  
**  
  


The mansion is exactly how she remembered it.

Large. _Very_ large. Wooden flooring and winding staircases. High windows and so many rooms as soon as Angie sets foot she can recall laughing and running through the halls with Peggy on her tail. They would throw pillows  as they ran in winter and melting icecubes in summer. She can remember slipping into Peggy’s arms on the wet flooring, Peggy laughing delightfully as she fell in her arms. Kissing through mirthful smiles.

Peggy turns to her, an uncertain hopeful smile as she carries their bags in. “Do you remember-?”

Angie nods, smiling reassuringly as she steps in and takes Peggy’s bags. Her arms much more capable than before. Peggy must notice this, eyes growing in surprised as Angie just takes the massive bags and carries them in. “Yep. We lived here for at least three years, right?”

Peggy nods, smiling more confident than before as they make their way to the kitchen. “Four, actually.” Angie nods with her lip drawn in at that information, walking into the room and setting the bags down, taking in the familiar surroundings as she drags her fingers across the counter and kettle. Her eyes lighting up at the object.

“Hey! You love tea!” Angie excitedly moves to the kettle and fills it up, flicking the stove on proudly. She moves then to the toaster, popping it up and down again. “And you kinda burnt breakfast every morning, didn’t ya? Jeez Peg, there’s crumbs all through it!”

Peggy laughs at Angie’s classic upturned face at her disaster cooking, her eyes warm and light as she takes in Angie adjusting. Not really...adjusting per say. But Peggy can clearly see the gears and cogs turning in Angie’s mind, sorting through memories and events. The way her hands reverently touch each object as if they weren’t merely a plate or pan. Like they hold something much deeper.

Peggy comes up behind her, making noise as to alert Angie of her presence, because no matter how much they want to deny it, they’re both unsure. Well, Angie is. Peggy is adamant Angie is Angie and nothing evil more. No monster. No killer. Just Angie and her beautiful eyes and selflessness and personality and warm touch.

So Peggy takes her body against hers, Angie’s back pressed to Peggy’s front and winds her arms around her waist with her chin on Angie’s shoulder.

She doesn’t stiffen, and the rod from her spine dissolves. But Angie feels her veins turn hot and has three seconds to calm her racing heart, breathing Peggy in and her nails almost painfully digging into Peggy’s forearms to ground herself. She hears Peggy next to her ear, soothingly caressing the tight grip she holds and easing Angie through it.

It’s small steps, it’s small steps.

It’s something.

“Shhhh. You’re fine. You’re Angie Martinelli and I’m Peggy Carter. You are in your home, you’re safe” Her voice is like liquid gold, pouring over Angie as she shuts her eyes and eases her grip, her hands now shaking and tears sitting at the edge of her vision. Peggy just burrows her head further into Angie’s neck, Angie’s eyes shutting tighter as she tries to cool her burning body down.

“Angie it’s me. You’re not in that room with those men, you’re here. You’re you and everything’s okay”

Everything’s okay.

Everything’s okay.

_Everything’s okay._

Angie’s body gives in, and her mind likes to play tricks on her. But Peggy still takes her dangerous body in her arms when Angie suddenly turns around and hugs Peggy, face buried in Peggy’s hair as she holds in her cries.

And Peggy can’t do anything but hold her, hold her so tightly she may threaten to mold their bodies. But quite frankly, Peggy’s holding tightly to rein _herself_ in, because she’s been three seconds away from grabbing her gun and tracking them down for even just _touching_ Angie. The rage Peggy’s been feeling for years at Angie’s absence has taken its toll, and it’s _hard._ So very hard not to murder every person who was even involved in the hurting of Angie. So hard not to let herself _feel_ even but one ounce of anger because once she does it won’t stop.

Peggy’s afraid that if she lets herself feel this all consuming rage, it will do just that... _consume._

Because god, Peggy loves so _fiercely_. And her love for Angie may very well kill her.

She can hear Angie through her shirt collar and hair. And she must be hearing Peggy’s voice when she was that other self, because Angie’s voice cracks like it did in the alleyway as they covered each other. “You were there the _whole_ time English, I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

Peggy pulls back, frowning and opening her mouth to rebut. “Angie-” But Angie shakes her head and sniffs, her hand dragging from around Peggy’s neck.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god Peggy, I’m so sorry” And she’s crying again, hand to her mouth to stop the tears that fall in regret. That fall in remorse, in _hatred_ for herself even though Angie, and on some degree she must know this, had no control over. She had no control over her actions, her arms weren’t her arms and the fire burning low in her stomach wasn’t fire started by her rage.

It was started by _them._

_Hydra._

They hold each other in the middle of the kitchen, stray bags at their feet. The kettle now screaming. Angie looks up with a frown and turns to go. “I can get that..”

Peggy reluctantly lets her slip through her arms. “Angie…you don’t-”

But Angie turns around, hopeful red rimmed eyes as she sniffs and pours two mugs. Steam rising into her half smile. “Yeah Pegs?”

She’s trying, oh god is she trying. Trying to be herself.

Peggy wants to tell her she doesn’t need to. Angie doesn’t need to... _try._ So she does, not moving to Angie and just speaking into quiet air.  “You don’t need to try to be you, when you already are Angie”  

She stiffens slightly, putting the kettle down with a click as she bows her head, folding her arms across herself thinking; _maybe if she holds herself Peggy won’t have to_. Maybe if Angie can stop feeling like there’s someone else inside her she can start to kiss and hold Peggy like she wants to. Like she _used_ to.

“English, just....let me do this? I know who I am, I just want to feel...normal. Ya know?” Angie turns around with her arms pressed like that, looking so much smaller than she did three days ago, hell, even three _years_ ago. When they were easy, when they loved so simply and beautifully.

But now Angie is thinking like they have an unknown amount of time, it’s like the war all over again.

She still loves Peggy, Angie doesn’t think she can stop. But it’s now so...different. With the knowledge Angie has hurt her love. And the hatred for herself isn’t leaving anytime soon.  

But to Peggy the relief of seeing her _alive_ hasn’t left, seeing Angie and having her back after all those years, with her own knowledge of what was happening to Angie, just having her here standing in their kitchen safe is all Peggy can ask for. All she was _wishing_ for. She spent sleepless years over her, Peggy spent months crying yet again over a lost love and being so   _helpless_ to do anything.

In a sense, God, Peggy hated herself too.

It’s quite sad it’s what they now can bond over. The love they share and the self hatred they harbour.

Peggy then just smiles slightly. “Of course Angie.” She picks up her mug and kisses Angie on the forehead, all she can offer without scaring her. She leans back as Angie takes her own mug, taking a sip of the warmth and immediately frowning with a disgusted “ugh” at the taste.

Peggy laughs, tapping Angie’s mug with a fingernail. “You like two sugars darling”

Angie pokes her tongue out at the other woman, quickly scooping two sugars into the mug as Peggy snorts at her face.

And it’s simply beautiful again.

**  
**  
  


~

**  
**  


It lasts for as long as it takes for the nightmares to start.

They sit near the fireplace, the warmth creeping up against their skin and touching their cheeks. Embers flying out and dissolving into the air, Angie pressed up against Peggy as they huddle together. It’s so natural, so them that Angie is almost giddy with the feeling. Peggy kisses the side of Angie’s head and breathes it all in, her bones and entire being so content.

It’s when Angie starts to lightly snore and drool on Peggy’s shoulder does she think it’s a good time to retire to their bed. So she fondly picks Angie up bridal style, holding her close to her chest as Peggy makes her way up the stairs. Smiling down to her conked out form as Angie mumbles in her sleep. About half way up Peggy jostles Angie by accident, her bleary eyes opening in slight confusion then realisation as she just tiredely drapes her arms around Peggy’s neck, snuggling further in.

Peggy breaks the silence as they make it to the door. Calling softly. “Angie? Darling? I need you to wake up”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember our room?”

Angie yawns with a frown, covering her mouth and looking to Peggy perplexedly. “Of course Pegs, why wouldn’t I remember our room?”

Peggy stops herself, wondering why she found it important to ask Angie _this_ question. Maybe Peggy couldn’t take it if Angie forgot a place so personal to them. A place they loved and slept and woke up in each others arms. A room where Angie would flick the book Peggy’s reading down and distract her with warm soft kisses and their bodies tangling. Where they would just lie with Angie or her draped over one another, seeking warmth in cold nights.

“It’s just, I-”

Angie sighs and puts her head back closing her eyes, turning the knob of the door as she does so from where she is in Peggy’s arms. “I remember English, alright? Could never forget”

It’s said sleepily, lazily; dripping off with dazed truthful words.

Peggy places her oh so carefully down onto the sheets. Smiling as like always, it takes 0.1 seconds for Angie to curl behind Peggy with her cold nose to her neck. Holding tight to Peggy from behind as Peggy smiles and covers them in the heavy blankets.

The nightmares start three hours later.

**  
**  


~

**  
**  


And they start with screams.

Piercing terrible screams that has Peggy up and eyes open, Angie’s thrashing body moving her as she watches Angie smack her forearms to the bed like she’s still strapped, her legs kicking out and neck straining, tears steadily making their way down her cheeks.

“No! Stop! Leave her alone!”

Peggy is already on her hands and knees hovering over Angie, arms at a loss to do as she shakily strokes at Angie’s sweaty hairline and tries to take her wild hands that tear at the sheets. “Angie! Angie it’s alright!”

Her voice is loud but urgently calming, demanding Angie to see where they are. But her thrashes are so strong and wild, Peggy’s voice just gets swallowed up by her screams.

“Don’t touch me! Please!”

Tears are already burning Peggy’s eyes, seeing Angie desperately plead with a cracked voice, seeing her love in trouble and _she can’t do a bloody fucking thing about it!_ Peggy tries to stop her uncontrollable kicks, easing Angie’s clawing nails as they tear at her own clothes and hair. She successfully brings her hands to her chest, nestling them there in comfort as her own voice cracks with emotions and tries to sooth Angie’s distraught face.

“Angie darling shh. Please, you’re going to hurt yourself. It’s alright”

Angie’s right hand breaks free, latching onto the bed sheets and twisting the cloth around. Her screams getting louder. “ _Please!_ S-stop! I n-need Peggy! Where’s Peggy?!”

Her voice is so desperate, so small and just _breaking_ with human need that a wracked sob nearly tears through Peggy’s chest. Oh god Angie needs her.

“Angie I’m here! I’m right here my darling!”

But it falls to deaf ears as Angie sobs and screams, still thrashing with her eyes tightly shut.

Eventually all Peggy can do is close her eyes and hope she doesn’t sport a black eye after this. She takes Angie into her arms, holding her fighting fists in her hands as she balls them together to her chest, bringing Angie’s body in and bringing her arm around Angie’s back. Cradling her softly as she speaks quietly into her ear.

Peggy doesn’t feel the impact of Angie’s fists on her chest until she’s gasping for air.

Angie’s strength propels her off her body, Peggy falling back to the mattress with a heavy “Oof” as the weight of Angie’s hit pushes the air out of Peggy’s lungs. She gasps at the sensation, rubbing her chest where she can already feel a dark bruise forming. And from the movement and Peggy’s gasp, Angie’s eyes flick open as she scrambles to the top of the bed, kicking her legs out still slightly lost in the dream.

Peggy stutters out, holding her stomach trying to gather air. “A-Angie you’re safe.” She places her hand around Angie’s ankle, rubbing softly at the bone as she gazes warmly to Angie’s frenzied eyes.  “You’re home, with me”

She watches the haze dissipate from Angie’s eyes, like fog swirling from her gaze. Angie frowns at Peggy, her eyes blinking slowly and showing brief confusion, but quickly widening as she takes in Peggy’s breathing. Her bruised chest and still healing neck. She feels her hand on her ankle and nearly scrambles again because _No, no no no. She hurt Peggy again! S-She **hurt** Peggy._

__

Angie quickly uncurls from the top of the bed and darts to Peggy, eyes watering and hand outreached. “Oh my god Pegs, I’m so sorry-” But Peggy smiles reassuringly and takes her outstretched hand. “Stop apologizing love”

Angie softly trails her finger over the hand print spreading over Peggy’s collarbone and chest, tears leaking out as she shuts her eyes tightly. “No I hurt you Peggy, I-I can’t...”

Peggy patiently waits for her to continue, still holding her hand. Then Angie speaks, and maybe Angie herself already knows it won’t work. But she honestly can’t live with herself if Peggy has to endure another moment being hurt in her presence. So she retracts her hand, her own chest already cracking and breaking,  feeling like someone set fire to her ribcage and her heart is trapped in the blaze.

“Peggy I gotta go. I can’t do this. I can’t live with you and love you when I _know_ It’ll just end up hurting you. English, I-I don’t want to be the cause of your pain” Her tears are steady and her crying makes it hard to talk, but Peggy isn’t even fazed, like the words mean nothing.

It’s because they don’t.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Peggy’s eyes are sad but sympathetic and the words catch Angie by surprise. Her voice stopping as she questions.

“What?”

Peggy sits up with a groan, sitting face to face as she takes Angie’s cheeks beneath her palms and cradles her tear stained face. Rubbing softly at the skin with her thumbs.

“I promised you something. I promised you in this _very_ bed that I would love and cherish you till we were weak in the knees. I _promised_ you Angela, for better or for worse. In sickness in health. I promised to love you in every way, to never give up.”

Angie’s eyes widen, tears still dropping at moments at Peggy’s strong voice. Her beautiful eyes holding Angie so warmly.

“And you my darling. You promised _right_ back. Without rhyme or reason you took my face like this and sealed those words. We promised each other this, and I’ll be _damned_ if I’m letting you walk away now” Her voice is cracking now as well, Peggy’s jaw tightening holding in the way the tears bubble up her throat.

And all Angie has the strength to do, with all the emotions swirling and all the nightmares and all the _confusion_ swimming around her mind, all Angie has left is to take Peggy in her arms. So strongly crying into Peggy’s shoulder they fall backwards into the bed, both laughing softly as they tangle in the sheets and eachothers arms.

“I love you English”

It’s said softly against her neck, with promise that Angie will be Angie again.

But Peggy doesn’t need that particular promise, she’s holding Angie already, no one else. She says it back just as softly as they curl together.

“I love you too Angie”

The world is heavy, but human hearts will always tip the scales.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm working on another fic and editing, i thought I may update this to feel like I've accomplished something haha. Enjoy!

 

 

_My babe would never fret none // About what my hands and my body done // If the Lord don't forgive me // I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me // When I was kissin' on my baby // And she put her love down soft and sweet // In the low lamp light I was free // Heaven and hell were words to me // When, my, time comes around // lay me gently in the cold dark earth // no grave, can hold my body down // I'll crawl home to her //_

 

_-hozier-work song_

~

**  
  
**

There’s dozens of black and white photo’s lining their hallway, the walls, and sitting upright on the small tables with bunches of flowers. It’s the second thing Angie wakes up to.

The first is Peggy.

After untangling from Peggy’s warm body, her lean muscled arms slipping from Peggy’s waist, Angie sat up in the sheets still tangling her legs. Yawning and stretching her arms up as her back muscles twitched and her biceps flinched, neck craning as Angie stretches the muscles that lay there, and the bone running the length of it prominent and sharp. She looks down to Peggy’s peacefull figure, and smiles the softest smile it almost startles Angie’s muscle memory, her face used to stretched fake lips, frowns and glares and impassive gazes.

But the thing is, she can remember _loving_ smiling. Happiness was- _no_ , is, Angie’s go to emotion. She see’s herself giggling and bouncing, the memory is hazy, but she see’s Peggy sweep her into an excited kiss, full of proud laughter as a script falls to the floor in abandoned favour of warm lips and arms.

So as she watches Peggy’s nose twitch, and the English woman’s arm blindly reaching for Angie’s body again. She lets the smile _beam_ , this happiness coming naturally. And happily lets the lazy arm of Peggy’s drape her lap as Peggy burrows her head into Angie’s side.

She sits there, laughing softly as Peggy sighs into her skin when Angie runs her fingers through her hair.

Angie can’t feel her skin itch, nothing is growling to be let out when Peggy snuggles ever closer. Nothing screams. No men growl in her ear and no electricity runs down to her palms.

Everything’s so... _silent._

It’s just Peggy’s soft breathing and the sound of her legs moving the sheets, sun filters through and makes Peggy practically _glow_. Her hair catching the yellow shine and eyelashes dipped in gold. And as they move further up, the sun rays peaking through, the woman curled around her body groans and shuts her eyes tighter against the light.

Angie doesn’t think she’s smiled this much in a while.

_Man_ , she must look like the biggest in love sap right about now.

At least she remembers being in love. _Gotta be the optimist, right?_

Angie suddenly frowns and her hand in Peggy’s hair stills slightly. _Hang on._

Is she in love with Peggy, or-or, is she _remembering_ being in love? Her heart nearly stops beating because _No, that_ thought makes Angie’s stomach churn.

Because if that’s true, if what she’s thinking is _true,_ then Angie must be crazy.

She _has_ to be in love. Theres no other way to explain just what _exactly_ she’s feeling. How do you? How do you explain having your mind wiped and forgetting someone, to then only having to hear there voice to know its them? After _years_ of torture how do you explain Angie forgetting Peggy then remembering her through flashes of light between the darkness. How do you explain looking at someone and wanting nothing but the _best_ for them, even if that means experiencing your own pain of leaving?

How in the _goddamn world_ can Angie explain the feeling of hearing a woman’s name and loving the sound but at the same time conflicted, because you were trained to _hate_ that name.

How does Angie explain loving Peggy Carter?

She can’t.

And that’s why a tear tracks it’s way down Angie’s cheek and into Peggy’s hair. Because Angie can’t. You can’t explain something that powerful. You can only feel it.

And _damn_ is Angie feelin’ it.

She’s feeling it as the Angie before and the Angie now.

She’s feeling it as _Angie._ Plain and simple.

She wants to believe this is the moment where the monster nearly died, where it was so close to fading from the bright light that is Angie’s smiles and her thoughts. So close to fading from the love she has for the woman in her lap.

Peggy breathes in, her chest softly knocking into Angie’s knees as she lets it out, her hand splayed across Angie’s hip, softly thumbing the skin there exposed from her ridden up shirt.

Yes, Angie wanted to believe _it_ was gone.

But all the same, the monster lashed in it’s cage at Peggy’s touch.

**  
  
**

~

**  
  
  
**

 

Peggy sleeps in, that previous night wore down her bones, her body contently wrapping up in Angie. So woman in said ‘wrapping up’ smiles and untangles their bodies, Angie softly covering Peggy back up in the blankets as she grumbles and turns this way and that.

Angie laughs quietly to herself at the image of the great Peggy Carter making low noises and cuddling up tighter into a blanket burrito.

And Angie decides blanket burrito is her new favourite Peggy.

And that’s when she wakes up to the second thing of the day. Her body turning and eyes setting on the various snapshots of their lives. The frames. The photographs. The images that make her head spin with another sense of: _All of these events happened, I was there! So why am I looking at something I was in and not remembering it?_ She remembers the black and white photo of them dancing, she can still smell the smoke of the bar they went to and feel Peggy’s arms around her waist. It sits in her bedside table drawer, crinkled from the fold but radiant.  

It’s her favourite photo, and it keeps her feeling like Angie.

So when she keeps walking the hall, trailing her fingers across the frames looking at the dazzling smile they both wear in the pictures, she can’t fathom that only half of the photographs stick.

Angie and... _Anna,_ smiling in the garden, the film of this one stained from sunlight. The neat scribble underneath outlines the woman’s name. _Anna. Anna. Anna….._

_Anna!_

Mr. Fancy’s wife!

Wait...Mr. Fancy!

_Jarvis!_

It’s so much information that Angie laughs as she holds the frames, caught up in the feeling as her voice echoes the halls. And with that, in their room Peggy mumbles and blearily opens her eyes against the sunlight, the sheets still warm but her arms empty. She frowns briefly at the loss of Angie but her worrying gaze softens and a smile breaks out at the sound of Angie’s giggles that flow through their open door.

She lays a while, listening to the quiet chuckles and wonders what exactly has made her love laugh like that.

Peggy rolls onto her stomach and presses her face into their white pillows contently, sighing and basking in the knowledge that Angie’s laughing after not having something to laugh about for years.

Oh _yes,_ Peggy definitely basks in Angie’s happiness. And she starts laughing along at a particular bark of a giggle that hits her ears from the hallway.

Unbeknownst to Peggy, the giggle came from Angie’s hand then following the line of frames on the wall, landing on one particular shot. One of Howard Stark ( his proud moustache flashing in her mind in recognition) Jarvis, Peggy and herself with their arms around each other laughing in that order. Peggy’s lips to her cheek as Angie’s dimples show, with Howard’s shit eating grin as he headlocks Jarvis.

With the caption in Peggy’s neat scrawl: _“1948. Taken by Anna Jarvis. My love, Howard and Edwin.”_

At “My love” Angie smiles and frowns slightly, forlorn looking as she lightly lets her fingers brush at the photo.

She wants to remember it.

She wants to remember smiling like that.

But instead, Angie remembers a metal table cooling her spine and straps around her ankles and wrists. Peggy must notice the sudden silence, as she calls with her voice lilt in worry. “Angie?”

Angie in question sniffs lightly, wiping under her eyes and clearing her throat of tears. “Yeah Pegs?” She turns slightly to see Peggy tying her robe at the waist as she comes out of their room, smiling warmly to Anige.

“I heard your laughter, and-” Peggy momentarily stops, frowning then chuckling at herself and Angie gets it now why she fell in love with this woman. “Honestly I don’t why I was worried at the sound of your _laughter_ , I just...wanted to make sure you were settling in. Are you alright? After last night?”

Her eyes are so warm and concerned, and her fingers slightly play with the bow of her robe. Peggy looks so...vulnerable, so caring that Angie wants to fall in her arms again and tease the monster inside just out of spite. So it can see how _beautiful_ Peggy is and finally just _shut up._

But all Angie does is nearly rolls her eyes, because of _course_ Peggy’s worried about _her._ When Peggy was the one who was injured from Angie _twice_ , and has to watch the woman she loves lose herself in nightmares and memories that are years old but still plague her mind.

So Angie just half smiles, turning back to the photos on the wall, feeling Peggy’s warmth saddle up beside her. “Yeah English,” She looks to the picture of the four of them again and picks it up, smiling fully at Peggy’s happiness as she kisses Angie’s cheek in the photo.

“I’m doin’ good”

~

**  
  
  
  
**

They stayed like that, the accustomed warm kiss from Peggy to Angie’s forehead filling her up as they move along the walls and stare at the pictures.

It’s only when they get to the stairwell does Angie feel Peggy stiffen slightly.

As one frame nestled on a small table with white flowers surrounding it catches Angie’s eye. Her widening smile and quiet chuckles growing silent as Peggy suddenly turns quiet. It’s a photograph nestled between a pic of her... _Ma?_ and Peggy smiling together. It hugs the wall with this _warmth_ that has tears immediately stinging her eyes. The monster growls, she can feel her skin itch at her raging emotions.

_How did she miss this? How-? How in the heck could Angie forget this?_

“Oh my god-”

She quickly covers her mouth, a sob catching her throat at the frame her palm lands on. Her fingertips graze the white flowers in the photo, almost reverently outlining both their smiles. The lace she wears climbing her back, her and Peggy’s hands clasped in the middle and backs turned to the camera. Howard smiling with an open book in his palms inbetween them.

The two women are looking to one another like nothing else existed.

Peggy beside her lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, already-

_God,_ already forgiving Angie for forgetting something like this.

“Angie,” But Angie closes her eyes and bows her head, shaking slightly as tears leak.

And believe it or not, she’s hurt Peggy again.

_“I **promised** you Angela, for better or for worse. In sickness in health. I promised to love you in every way, to never give up.”_

__

Angie can clearly see the hurt now in Peggy’s eyes from last night, the silent breaking of her heart at Angie’s loss of memories. But right now, all she see’s of Peggy is forgiving gazes and her body being brought into the warm English woman’s chest.

“Oh Angie, darling, it’s not your fault. _None_ of this is your fault alright?” She feels Peggy’s hand on her back, rubbing smooth circles.

Angie just cries harder, like years of not shedding a tear come crawling back.

And the monster rears it’s ugly head again, now into Angie’s chest, making her gasp at the realisation as it floods her ribcage. As petals fall in her hair and a ring slips onto her finger, as the memory flicks past.

 **  
**(For someone who claims to love Peggy so much that it’s indescribable, you would think Angie’s love for her could never forget their wedding day).

 

 

 


End file.
